


I bet that you look good on the dancefloor

by defractum (nyargles)



Series: Tumblr Fic & Prompt Fills [13]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clubbing, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 02:28:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3878731
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nyargles/pseuds/defractum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac wrestles the remaining inch of his drink from him. “Only drunk people insist that they’re not drunk. Come on, Enjolras, there’s a good boy.”</p><p>Enjolras wilts, and gives up the drink. “Only Grantaire is allowed to call me a good boy,” he says sadly.</p><p>“Oh my God,” says Courfeyrac half in horror and half in fascination. “Tell me more and bleach my brain afterwards.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	I bet that you look good on the dancefloor

**Author's Note:**

> **Prompt:** semi-nsfw grinding

Grantaire is on the dancefloor and there are  _complete strangers_  touching him.

Enjolras is aware that this is a very stupid thing to be annoyed about because it’s more or less impossible for people to not touch in a place this crowded, and yet. He is. If he were to be truly honest about it, he’s most annoyed that Grantaire seems to be having a good time, and not punching people any time they brush against him, which is what Enjolras would be doing for him if Courfeyrac wasn’t physically sitting on him.

“You can’t punch people for touching Grantaire,” Courfeyrac explains, and Enjolras sulks some more into his drink.

“Can so.”

There is no way that Courfeyrac heard him over the music, but he laughs anyway. “Enjolras, he’s just doing what you insisted he go do.” That rankles, because it’s true: this whole thing is Enjolras’s fault. He hadn’t wanted to be the boring boyfriend so he’s out with them all despite not really liking clubs, and then he hadn’t wanted to stop Grantaire from dancing by making him hover near Enjolras all night when Enjolras had no intention of dancing, and Grantaire had asked,  _multiple times_ , whether it was okay and Enjolras had said that it was.

And now there are attractive men eyeing Grantaire like a piece of meat and he is not ashamed to say that he hisses every time one of them get a bit too close. Like now, where a particularly persistent guy has been worming his way closer to Grantaire for at least three songs now.

“You are so drunk,” says Courfeyrac fondly when he does it again.

“I’m not drunk,” says Enjolras, and drains half of his glass.

Courfeyrac wrestles the remaining inch of his drink from him. “Only drunk people insist that they’re not drunk. Come on, Enjolras, there’s a good boy.”

Enjolras wilts, and gives up the drink. “Only Grantaire is allowed to call me a good boy,” he says sadly.

“Oh my god,” says Courfeyrac half in horror and half in fascination. “Tell me more and bleach my brain afterwards.”

Enjolras is still trying to figure out the logistics of that when Joly appears out of nowhere and hits him on the arm. “Ow!”

“Go and rescue him!” yells Joly. He flops on top of Courfeyrac and Enjolras groans from the extra weight.

“What?!”

“Grantaire!  _Go – and – rescue – him_!” yells Joly, punctuating each word with another smack.

Enjolras rubs at his arm. “You’re drunk, aren’t you?”

"I’m not  _drunk_ ,” says Joly in disgust, sniffing at what used to be Enjolras’s drink and then raising it slowly. When neither of them suggest that it’s probably a bad idea to drink drinks that aren’t yours, he drains it in one gulp.

"Only drunk people insist they’re not drunk,” says Enjolras dutifully.

“If you don’t rescue him,” says Joly solemnly, “Grantaire’s going to be hit on by some other guy and they’ll take him home and have hot sex with him and – and – ”

“– and let him call them ‘good boy’,” supplies Courfeyrac helpfully.

“ _No_!” gasps Enjolras, and throws the both of them off so he can wobble toward the dance floor.

Once he gets closer, Enjolras can see that Grantaire really does need rescuing. He’s deflected a guy by turning to face him as they dance, which looks more intimated but means that the guy isn’t grinding against his arse, and he’s got his hands on the other guy’s hips – which in turn means that the guy is settling for the much less intimate shoulders.

Enjolras has no dancefloor decorum. He’s not slowly dancing his way over and moving to the beat and pretending it’s a natural progression. Nope, he’s stomping his way through couples and groups and elbowing people out of the way to get to Grantaire and when he gets there, he just slides between them by sheer virtue of sticking an arm between them and reckoning that his arm is attached to the rest of his body so he can probably manage that too.

The guy grunts and tries to swat him away but Enjolras honest to god just hipchecks him away and pours himself over Grantaire as if he’s trying to smother him, and clings like a baby koala. “Hello,” shouts Grantaire over the distance as they bop in time to the music. “Fancy seeing you here.”

Enjolras just kind of growls.

Grantaire laughs at him, settling his arms around Enjolras’s waist and pulls him in close. “I thought you said you didn’t want to dance.”

“I don’t!”

“You said you were okay with me out here dancing by myself.”

“I maybe lied.”

Grantaire laughs, a crinkling, grateful look in his eyes that Enjolras can read so obviously despite the bad lighting and the fact that he’s bouncing out of time to everyone else in the club. “If you’re going to take away my fun, you’d better be willing to grind against me instead,” he says, and Enjolras knows he’s joking because he’d never make Enjolras do something like this in a club if he didn’t want to, but –

“Alright. You have to show me how it’s done though.”

It’s worth it just to see the look of surprise flit across Grantaire’s face before Enjolras turns around to slot his back against Grantaire’s chest. Grantaire curls his arms around Enjolras’s waist and pulls him in tight, tight enough that he can feel Grantaire’s heartbeat through his shoulderblade and the rasp of his stubble against Enjolras’s sticky neck and feel the hot sweat seep through their t-shirts.

They dance like they’re one person, Grantaire steering the way and Enjolras sinking back and letting him guide how their bodies move, occasionally turning his head to steal a sloppy kiss. He can tell when Grantaire starts to get hard in his jeans and the grinding turns from dancing into rutting against Enjolras in the middle of the dancefloor, and he wriggles his arse backwards into it.

“I still don’t know why people do this in clubs,” says Enjolras huskily, pitching his voice just loud enough for only Grantaire to hear, “when we could be doing this at home, naked and without an audience.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://defractum.tumblr.com)!


End file.
